


the first pale rays

by jolybird



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Curses, F/F, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-10 00:16:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15279372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolybird/pseuds/jolybird
Summary: Feuilly glanced off to watch the morning light roll over the meadow and paused: there was a dark shape on the horizon. She glanced to one of their wards but it remained blissfully still and silent. If the wards were quiet, it could only be one person.“Is that Bahorel emerging from the fog over there?” Feuilly asked lightly.Combeferre didn’t look up from her wine, “It’s certainly dramatic enough to be her.”





	the first pale rays

**Author's Note:**

> Written for les mis rare pairs 2018 xoxo

Feuilly watched Combeferre drink wine out of a delicate porcelain teacup. They sat outside, the air sticky with cool morning dew, and a fog rolled around them as the sky broke golden through the trees.

She had dark smudges on the bridge of her nose from whatever witchcraft she had gotten into the night previous. She leaned back in her chair and stretched her legs out so that she could rest her feet on Combeferre’s knees.

Combeferre glanced up, impossibly, incredibly fond, and took another sip of her spiced wine. It steamed slightly in the morning light and ominously stained her lips a darker red. She had a teapot full and two more glasses on the table but Feuilly had elected for coffee this morning instead of whatever spell Combeferre was enjoying.

She glanced off to watch the morning light roll over the meadow and paused: there was a dark shape on the horizon. She glanced to one of their wards but it remained blissfully still and silent. If the wards were quiet, it could only be one person.

“Is that Bahorel emerging from the fog over there?” Feuilly asked lightly.

“It’s certainly dramatic enough to be her.”

“Did she come home last night?” Feuilly slept like the dead and Combeferre was her inverse. Actually, Combeferre was probably clairvoyant to the comings and goings of the world in general. She usually always knew where their friends were, not to mention their enemies.

Combeferre shook her head, “she never came to bed.”

Feuilly leaned back in her seat and took another deep sip of coffee.

“Which you should know,” Combeferre continued, “seeing as you were snoring the entire night through.”

“If I didn’t wake the night Bossuet came in screaming about breaking every bone in his foot, I’m not gonna gonna wake for Bahorel dragging herself into bed.”

Combeferre smiled into her drink and the two watched the witch approach in silence. Sometimes she didn’t know how she got to this point. When Feuilly was just a tiny little thing, she worked in a fortune shop on the coast. Day in and night out she watch men be lied to: they’d return, their nets would be full, and saw black aura widows walk in with relief and money in hand.

When one of the men returned half drowned, revenge in his fists, Feuilly ran. She was chased by fire and lightning but she ran.

It was almost easy to survive on the streets with a bloody tarot deck and wide dark eyes. Never stay in one place for too long. Stay away from black auras. Make then hear what they want and keep money inside the lining of her clothes.

Eventually she found a black aura she couldn’t stay away from. She followed her to a traveling show. She was watched as she calculated and planned.

She vanished for days at a time but she always came back no matter the distance the show travelled.

Feuilly sold potions for three months before she knew who the black aura had been watching. They woke up one morning to find him shattered.

Feuilly thought the revenge would take the black aura from her life but one night she came for a silly love potion. Her smile was slight and crooked. The next night Courfeyrac showed up. Told her she was going to steal her away in the night. Feuilly had laughed and thought nothing of it.

Someone else woke up shattered the next morning.

It happened four more times before Courfeyrac made good on her promise.

Courfeyrac burst into her tent one night, the black aura on her heels. Feuilly was too preoccupied with seeing the aura was now flecked with color—teal and magenta and a bright shining gold—to notice they gathered her things and dragged her and a handful of other innocent hanger-ons from flames.

Enjolras had better control of her anger now.

Combeferre absentmindedly reached down and ran her fingers along side Feuilly’s foot. She glared and kicked her hand away. She laughed.

Combeferre’s aura was much brighter now. It don’t got dark when someone used up her herbs without telling her.

There was a red flitting about her this morning. The first time Feuilly had seen it had been the day they met Bahorel. She realized she was in love with Combeferre the moment she thought she might lose her to this witch who instantly appeared deep in her soul.

But she didn’t.

She didn’t lose either of them.

Bahorel finally made it over to them and stole a sip of Feuilly’s coffee before handing it back.

“And where have you been?” Combeferre asked over the rim of the teacup like she didn’t already know.

Bahorel leaned down to kiss her and thenwrapped her arm around Feuilly’s waist, “Got into an argument with the hag that lives across the valley.”

Combeferre made a face like she was genuinely surprised and pulled away, “Are you cursed?”

“Your darling best friends pulled me away before she had the chance.”

Feuilly narrowed her eyes, “If Courfeyrac and Enjolras are awake before dawn, something is seriously awry.”

“Everything’s fine.”

“Everything is not fine.” Combeferre scowled, setting the teacup down and standing. Feuilly frowned: Combeferre didn’t know what was going on, this was potentially problematic.

She turned to go into the house but Bahorel caught her wrist, “Don’t go scrying Courfeyrac.”

“If you won’t tell me what’s wrong, she will.”

Bahorel glanced to Feuilly and then back to their witchmate. “Okay so, one of my spells might have counteracted hers, so naturally she altered it and when I counterbalanced mine back, it turned every man in the valley into pelicans for a brief two hour period.”

“And you fixed it?”

“Yes. Only in two hours after that they were pelicans again. We’re in a second two hour period now. I-- Why are you sitting back down?” Bahorel asked incredulously as Combeferre leaned back in her seat and raised the teacup to her lips.

“We don’t need to fix this right now, it can wait until after breakfast.”

“You’re drinking wine, sweetheart.” Feuilly raised an eyebrow and Combeferre waved a hand.

“Just let me have a nice breakfast with my witchmates and we can deal with the curse later.” 

“Curse?”

“You cursed the men, mon bijou.”

“I did no such thing.” She placed one hand on her chest, scandalized, and then poured herself some wine. The steam was tinged purple and Bahorel refused to look at Combeferre. She did have a nasty habit of accidentally cursing those most unfortunate to be near her at the wrong moment.

Combeferre sighed around her smile, “We’ll deal with it later. Did you sleep?”

“Can’t sleep. Men are pelicans.” She grumbled back.

“Are Enjolras and Courfeyrac sleeping?”

“Yes.” She said, sounding fifteen years younger then them. She was half a decade older.

“Then you come sleep.” Combeferre was their group’s Shepard, always guiding them to the most logical path.

Bahorel looked to the cottage then huffed and settled for the garden bench next to them. She curled up in the blankets and pillows before sipping some more of the wine.

She was so ridiculous.

Bahorel with her ready fists, always on the go and Combeferre in a constant state of watching the world from over the rim of her glass, ready to offer solutions like they were easy.

How did she get so lucky. How did they find her.

“You look decidedly sappy today.”

Feuilly frowned but allowed Bahorel to drag her onto the bench with her. It was a narrow fit, but they had practice.

“You know I first saw you ten years ago today.”

“Is that why I keep thinking about how you all nearly murdered me in your rampage.”

Combeferre sipped her wine delicately, “you were the one who took it up with a band of disgusting criminals.”

“I only found them because I was following you.”

Bahorel yawned loudly, “don’t argue. I wouldn’t have found either of you if my father hadn’t finally met his end in that fire.”

Feuilly kept forgetting technically Enjolras murdered her witchmate’s father. She kept forgetting she had known the man. He had been all slimy leers and extorted his daughters. He had cursed Bahorel to keep away from her sisters. She had stayed just far enough to way that she was able to stand the burns that broke out along her arms. When he died she came swooping in to collect them and ended up collecting Combeferre, Feuilly and the others as well.

Bahorel’s sisters visited them biweekly at their most infrequent. Most of the time one of them was camped out in their den.

“You’re still thinking too hard.” Bahorel complained, a slight whine in her voice.

“Are you both going to sleep there?”

“Yes.” Bahorel said the same time Feuilly said, “of course not.”

“Sleep with me.”

Feuilly muttered the beginning of a smell under her breath and Bahorel squeaked. Combeferre choked on her wine.

“So what made you decide to fight her this morning? You’ve been fighting over the spell land for months.”

“Happened to see her passing by. I can’t let a chance to use my fists pass by.”

“Fists?”

“All it took for you to start throwing puncheswas the sight of her?” Feuilly asked, “she’s our neighbor.”

Bahorel gave a little shrug and wrapped her arms around her, shutting her eyes instead of answering.

“Are you kidding.”

She nudged her but she didn’t flinch. She glanced to Combeferre and then went for a different tactic. She kissed her nose and a smile broke out on her face.

“That’s cheating.” She grumbled and scrunched up her nose. 

Feuilly kissed her cheeks and forehead and continued to pepper her face with kisses until Bahorel started laughing.

“How are you two some of the most feared witches in the valley?”

“The fact you adore us brings our intimidation factor up.” Feuilly smiled, turning to her. Bahorel wrapped her arms around her waist and pressed her lips to her shoulder.

Combeferre smiled and sipped her wine, “despite myself, I really do adore the both of you.”

“We love you too.”

“Come sleep with us.”

“If you don’t go to sleep right now you’re going to have to deal with your mess with no sleep.”

“Do you really think Courfeyrac and Enjolras are asleep?”

“We’re not talking about them.” Combeferre said even as she stood and went to go scry them.

“Where’s she going.”

“To tell your conspirators to take a nap.”

“Yeah, nap. Tell her to come back.”

Feuilly rolled her eyes and then shut them, if Bahorel wasn’t going to nap before they had to break a curse on an entire town, Feuilly was.

Just when she was starting to drift off, Bahorel was suddenly gone from behind her. Just—up and vanished.

Inside the cottage, their witchmate was screaming, “you two stay right the hell there—Bahorel—Feu, is she a bleeding—“ she screamed in frustration and stormed from the house. Something landed on Feuilly’s hip. She didn’t move. She didn’t look.

Combeferre was murderous and her aura was a blinding angry gold. “They didn’t think it was important to tell us that they were cursed as well.”

There was a flapping of wings and Feuilly looked up to see a pelican fluttering lopsidedly into a tree above them.”

“You better stay up there.” Combeferre swore.

“They’re like this for two hours?”

Combeferre sighed deeply and sank onto the bench next to her. Feuilly hugged her and glanced up to make sure Bahorel was shuffling jealously along the branch.

She was. Good.

“What’s the plan?”

“Well they’re pelicans for two more hours?”

She nodded. Feuilly reached over and poured them both another glass of wine. They leaned back into each other and sipped it quickly. Bahorel was making pitiful sounds in the early morning light as she tried to see if she could get back down. After they finishes their lukewarm wine, Combeferre stood up and held out her arms.

Bahorel plummeted. There was no flying involved. She just dropped.

With her breath in her throat, she ran over to Combeferre and watched as she caught her asgentle as can be. She dropped her on the ground and Bahorel haughtily righted herself.

“Are we gathering the others?”

Combeferre grabbed her hand and pulled her out into the meadow.

The sun was higher now, the gold was turning blue on the horizon. The grass was wet on her bare feet and ankles and the fog clung to their skin.

It was a gorgeous morning, a warm breeze ruffling the grass, the birds singing (if you ignored the deeper, ominous tenor that was half of village of pelicans screeching). They laced their fingers together and did their best not to laugh at their witchmate waddling/flying along side them.


End file.
